Sand in the Wind

I release a breath that I don't even remember holding. A million questions flood my mind, each clamoring for attention. All of the confusion in my head is contrasted by my silence. Finally, the stranger speaks again, "Ease up, great fool."

I shake my head and follow his gaze. Unknowingly, I've been crushing the drink cup in my mechanical hand. Embarrassed, I set the badly bent mug down on the bar counter. The stranger beside me doesn't let the silence linger. "Why is it, Skywalker? Why is it that folks always want the answer to be handed to them, but when someone gives them the solution, their brain shorts out?"

"I-" I begin.

The stranger claps his hand on my shoulder, hard. "The question was rhetorical. I already have the answer." He sways slightly. I decide he's about to launch into a Corellian Rum fueled speech. Suddenly, I wish I had somewhere else to be, but I don't. I decide to suffer through whatever he says. Maybe he'll explain all this.

"Folks don't want the answer to be handed to them," the stranger decides. "They're too content moping around and drinking the tavern dry. If the answer to their little problems are so easily found, then they have no reason to wallow in the self pity that they love so much."

That statement hits a little too close to home, but I brush it aside. I haven't been pitying myself, I've been . . . reflecting. Finally I ask, perhaps a little too bitterly, "And what makes you an expert?"

"They don't call me Dax the wise, for nothing."

Somehow, I'm pretty sure no one calls him that, but before I can say anything he adds, "It's all a paradox, Skywalker. Wanting an answer, but getting an answer only makes things more confusing. Explain that. Ya can't. Everything is a paradox."

About this time, I realize that this conversation is getting no where. "Like drunk and wise," I state.

Dax looks back at me, with a raised eyebrow.

A smirk crosses my face. "Ironic, right?"

Dax laughs, "Right enough. You have a sharp mind, you will survive."

I'm a jedi, or I had thought I was. I had thought I could hide my emotions, but apparently I can't. My expression must give away my confusion. Dax shakes his head, and taking a swig of his rum he says, somberly, "I told you. You have to go."

"Between the shadows," I finish his statement. "That doesn't even make sense-"

"Didn't I just tell you that nothing makes sense? That it's all just twisted quirks of fate?"

"Whatever," I say calmly, rising from the bar. I toss a few coins on the counter and begin to move toward the exit. Even though, I'm not sure what I should do now, I don't want stay here any longer.

Stepping out of the cantina, a cool breeze hits me. I draw a deep breath and shake my head, deciding to forget about all that Dax has said.

Suddenly, I sense a presence behind me. With my hand tightly gripping the hilt of my lightsaber, I turn to find Dax standing behind me.

"Far too tense, boy," the old man scolds. "Ease up, Skywalker, not everyone's out to kill you."

By now, I'm annoyed and not interested in the philosophical musings of a stranger. I just want simple answers. "How do you know me?"

"Well it's about time you asked," Dax says. "A savvy man would have asked me that first, instead of trying to translate my cryptic advice. Did you really just now think to ask how I know you?"

He falls silence, but I'm not in a patient mood. "Well?"

Dax shrugs, "Another day, I will explain everything. That story is not important now. You have a journey ahead of you and lingering here will not make your task any easier."

"I don't even know what you're talking about," I say, frustrated.

"Quit asking questions, questions are just sand in the wind. Questions are worth nothing and just plain irritating. Now go."

"Where?" I ask.

"You know where."